The Difference
by ThreeJays
Summary: **HOUSE GUEST SPOILERS! Doppelganger hijinks can be a nuisance.  And they can also change everything.  Damon POV.  Teeny Weeny Oneshot, post 2x16.  Damon/Elena *Rated M for Language and Crudeness*


****A/N: Um….yeah, I owe my FABULOUS readers and reviewers an epilogue that I am ATROCIOUSLY late on. Trouble is, the post hiatus episodes have been grueling for me in all the wrong ways. My inspiration literally dried into jerky. :-( I feel like the writers are doing bad, wrong things to this ship, and especially to Damon. So, I've been really down. But then I had this very stupid idea after The House Guest that would. not. leave. me. be. Just an itty bitty little one shot. If anyone out there forgives me for failing to produce that epilogue, please be kind enough to review – I'll be so grateful – and maybe a little less neurotic!**

**I might even post the other one shot attacking my brain. Or maybe that epilogue! Gasp!**

**Oh, and this is Damon's POV. And rated M for language and male crudeness, not for sex. Sorry. and it's probably not all that great...but have mercy and review anyway! :-)****

Katherine's laughter speaks volumes. I hear it from Stefan's room, a long annoying trill of girlish chuckles that tells me exactly what's just happened in my baby brother's bed.

And who it _didn't_ happen with.

This will probably end badly.

Baby bro would no doubt slit his wrists if it'd do a damn bit of good. I tilt my head, glancing up the stairs, wondering if he's considering another dash for a ring-less sunrise. Wondering if I have enough time to get drunk before I'll need to scrape him off the floor of the breakdown he's about to have.

It's probably a fifty-fifty chance. I go for the liquor cabinet figuring it won't be hard to sniff him out if he does throw on the sackcloth and bolt through a window.

Halfway through my first drink, Katherine slinks down the stairs wearing some black and red number she probably thinks will drive me wild with jealousy. Truth told, I'm glad she got laid. She's been like a dog in heat around here.

"Well, I feel _much_ better," she says, bending over the drink cart, pressing her arms into her chest until I see a flash of pink flesh above the cups of her bra.

"Good," I say, downing the rest of my scotch and dropping my empty glass on the cart. "Now maybe you'll stop dry humping the couch arms."

I don't even bother to look before climbing the stairs. God knows whatever look she gives me would be worth cold cash, but leaving her without the satisfaction is irresistable.

A better man would leave his brother to lick his wounds, but hell, I'm not either of those things. I push open Stefan's door with my boot, finding him shirtless and appropriately devastated on the edge of his bed.

He looks at me with aching, hollow eyes.

"If you're going to look that pitiful, this isn't going to be any fun," I say, tsking.

"Go to hell, Damon," he says, voice cracking.

"I'm sure I've got a spot reserved," I say, finding a bottle of something cheap and hideous on the top of his bookshelf. I wrinkle a nose, but pour him a glass anyway.

He sucks it down in one swallow. He doesn't look good. Well, he never looks good, but I've seen corpses with more spark. So, I find a bag of blood in the little fridge he keeps near his bed and pour it into his now empty glass.

"You look like shit," I say.

"Thanks," he says, draining the blood like the scotch.

I cross my arms and resist the urge to straighten up the stacks of books all over his desk. "You know, with the whole doppelganger business, I'd have figured you two would have discussed this. Come up with a password or something."

He says nothing, just stares ahead like a dead thing.

"C'mon, you _really_ couldn't tell?" I ask, poking him with that invisible stick hoping to see a sign of life.

He gives me a look that sucks the smirk right off of my lips. I leave him then, because I'm not sure I want to know the answer to my question. And I'm damn sure Stefan doesn't want to tell me.

***SCENE BREAK***

I find Elena in my room three days later. Or at least I'm assuming it's Elena, since Katherine was sucking our last blood bag dry and heading out for fresh supplies when I came in.

I see Elena's shoes first, those black and white sneakers that lead me to dark jeans and a white shirt that turns her skin the color of caramel. God, but this girl does shit to me. When she looks up at me with those dark, endless eyes, I know I'm doomed.

She flips that glossy hair and bites her lip. "I need your help."

I close the door behind me and slide off my jacket. "Shoot."

"I need you to kiss me."

Now, I might have guessed her to ask for a shopping list of annoying, do-gooder things. This wouldn't have made the top 50,000.

She is the one creature on earth I'm convinced I'll never figure out.

And _that_ is the part of her that keeps me up at night, the part that's turned my car around at least fifty times when I've headed out of town, drunk off my ass and determined to get away from her. It is the thing in her I crave the way green things crave the sun.

No matter how many times I tell myself not to.

"Go home, Elena," I say, voice like sandpaper.

She steps closer, taking a breath that hitches just so in her shoulders. It tells me she's been crying which is just one more reason I should get her out of my room. Right now.

"He said he didn't know," she says, voice catching again, eyes going wet. "He said he couldn't tell."

Shit.

Shit fuck hell, I am _not_ the guy for this. Ric is the guy for this. Or maybe that douchebag Matt. Guys like that major in this kind of bullshit. They'd pat her shoulder and lend her a white handkerchief to catch the tortured tears.

But me? No. No, I am two fucking seconds from letting her work out every evil twin issue she's ever had. On my lap.

She licks her lips and swallows back her tears as she steps within reaching distance. And for the first time since I've known her, I _know_ I could have her. I could take this as far as I want it to go.

I narrow my eyes in warning. "Elena—

"Don't," she says, shaking her head. "Whatever you're going to say, just don't. I just need to know. You remember what it's like to kiss her, so you'll know if it's the truth," she says, and then she flicks that hair behind her shoulders and I know am in _deeply_ deep shit.

And hell, when in Rome, right?

I reach for her, threading my fingers in the back of her hair. She holds her breath, looking scared out of her mind. But I still feel her hands graze my sides.

"I don't think you have enough chips to be in this game," I say softly, but she sets her jaw and I think maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she's not bluffing.

Then I lean in until I can smell her, water lilies and the strawberry jam she loves on her toast. I close my eyes and breathe it in, rubbing my thumbs down the sides of her neck.

I know what this is…this is revenge or research or some unbelievably fucked up thing that I should run like hell from. But, God help me, I want this girl. In every imaginable soul-scorching, cock-throbbing way.

"This won't change anything," she says, a little breathlessly.

"The hell it won't," I say, letting out a little laugh of surrender before I taste her.

I mean to be gentle when I kiss her. I figure her for nothing but sweetness and feather touches, but then her fingers are twisting knots into the sides of my shirt and she is pressing her lips back against mine with damn near bruising force.

And fuck all if I'm going to ignore that.

I wrap an arm around her waist and tilt my head to improve the angle. I could literally spend _years_ kissing this girl. She tastes like sunshine and pain and a hunger too dark to name. And with her curling that little body of hers against me, I'm not sure I'm ever going to get enough of it. And something tells me that this part of her, the part that's sucking at my tongue and barely holding back her whimpers, this part is _mine_.

By the time she pulls free for a breath, I've got her off the floor and against a wall. And given the strange triangle of light on the ceiling, I think we knocked a lamp over.

I ease away from her and listen to the delicious sound of her pulse hammering wildly through her body.

The look she gives me would stop time in its tracks. This is the crazy shit that happens between us. Electricity. It makes her heart jitter and her breath come faster. I'd tease her about it if I wasn't panting like a dog, but I am.

Then it's over. She squirms gently in my arms and I put her down. To her credit, she doesn't blush or justify things or pace grooves into my floor. She tucks her hair behind her ears and looks at me. And I look right back, still panting like a Saint Bernard on Miami Beach. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair actually started smoking.

"So, can you tell the difference?" she asks as if she's got a clipboard and is just waiting to check the box I pick. As if this is all very clinical and she's not as wet as I am hard.

I move back in, leaning close until her eyes flutter closed and my lips are just beneath her ear. "Can you?"


End file.
